With a Whimper
by miichan2
Summary: A present for everyone who was unsatisfied or completely mystified by Marvel's explanation of Benjamin Russel. Who was Russel, and what happened to him when Shatterstar took up residence in his body? Contains drug use, political bitterness, and mm relat


With a Whimper by Hans Bekhart

Disclaimer: Took a lot of liberties with characterization.  Takes place after NXM #128, with X-Corporation Europe.  I don't know Monet at all, so she um, took a leave of absence after Darkstar's death.  There's drug use, m/m sex, bitter cynicism, and probably worse things coming as I think them up.

            It started, as so many things often do, with a bang and so much more.  A cry, if we allow ourselves a small moment of melodrama, that would be heard 'round the world.  Specifically, the cry of some sixteen million mutants, if indeed they even had the time to make a sound before their lives ended.  But that was only where it started, in the literal blink of an eye that turned from silver to green as it watched the Sentinels approach.  The details would be pieced together later by people who wore X's on their clothes, but very few of the mutants of Genosha had any warning, any time to prepare themselves for the inevitable.  It was just enough time to awaken a soul that had been sleeping in the darkest places of another's subconscious for years. 

            Our story continues two weeks later.

            The room exploded with light as something fell screaming to the floor, nearly blinding and deafening the two mutants in the room, both of whom possessed heightened senses.  The figure that had so abruptly appeared continued screaming, writing in waves of light that battered at Feral and Proudstar as they shielded their eyes and looked to each other.

            "Sounds familiar – "

            "Do you think –"

            Slowly, straining, they made their way closer.  Smells blurred together, their senses overloading.  The light, the noise, the screaming, the smells; it jammed their senses, made them feel as though their brains were bleeding out their noses, but somehow neither was afraid.  Instinctively they trusted in it, the light and sound that assaulted them, calmed them at the same time.  

            James Proudstar watched with bemusement as his forearms disappeared into the light.  His mind ceased trying to analyze and simply experienced, as he stretched further and further into the light.  Feral watched with narrow eyes, nearly clinging to her teammate's shirt to keep from being blown away, as his arms disappeared nearly up to his shoulder.  He grunted softly.  "Feel something –" He cut his sentence off in a hiss of breath as he leaned forward, his face disappearing from view.  He reappeared only moments later, an instant before Feral decided that she was officially going to freak out.  In his arms was a boy.  James fell to the floor as the light imploded, taking its suction and noise with it, taking Feral and his burden with him.  Strawberry red hair and pale skin spilled across the floor.  

            "Is that who I think it is?"  Feral picked herself gingerly off the floor.  Her voice was harsh in the sudden stillness.  Finally, their teammates burst through the door, shouting and concerned.  They might have been a thousand miles away for all the effect they had on the two young mutants who had just witnessed a rather startling return of an old friend.  Proudstar hunkered down on his haunches and brushed the hair out of the boy's face.  He looked back at Feral, his eyes wide.  

            "What's the number for X-Corporation Europe?"

            Jamie Madrox knew that something would ruin the week.  By all accounts it had been **magnificently** quiet up until today.  Rioting was down, ratings were up, and there had been some great parties at X-Corp HQ the last few nights.   And it wasn't even like the phone call had been earth-shattering.  X-Corp Mumbai was transporting over some ex-X-Force kid that Jamie vaguely remembered.  Nothing to bust a nut over, he knew.  He just couldn't make that little knot in his stomach go away, that little twinge that had, in fact, saved his life a few times.

            They crowded onto the rooftop as the knock-off Blackbird from Mumbai cruised in for landing.  Theresa gave him a little smile and wave as he joined them, her eyes lazy and bloodshot despite the early morning hour.  Julio stood next to her, eyes trained down on the ground and expression sullen.  All heads turned to the sky as the little X-Wing made its way closer.  Jamie was bored out of his skull, he was tired, he was confused.  He ever so slightly hung over.  And that little bit of worry just wouldn't go away.  A bit of motion in the corner of his eye pricked his interest.  Julio's hand moved surreptitiously over to Theresa's, and gripped it tight.  His face was turned to the sky, mouth drawn tight with tension.  Curioser and curioser, he thought.  We'd almost think he was nervous, Jamie thought, with a little laugh.  

            The plane came in with little fanfare, the patient taken quickly to the infirmary.  He looked bad, Jamie had to admit; it seemed like his whole body was bruised and cut, those pretty boy features beaten six shades to Hell.  He didn't bother to wonder what had happened to this near stranger.  His curiosity had dulled somewhat over the years since he had become an official X-person.  He had noticed a profound cynicism in himself since his so-called resurrection, which he hadn't quite decided if he was comfortable with or not.  He supposed that in a way, it was when he had really become a super hero; though it really hadn't been him that died of the Legacy Virus, he had been resurrected when thought dead.  Like Jean Grey.  Like Archangel.  Like Jesus.  He spared a moment to wonder if Jesus was a mutant and what the Christian Coalition would think of that, then followed the parade of geecees off the roof and down to the infirmary.

            They made a motley group, huddled around pretty boy's bedside.  Siryn, Cannonball, Proudstar, Feral, Rictor, and of course the Multiple Man.  He was feeling a little out of place in this weird X-Force reunion, and with a start he realized that his mind refused to think of the boy in the bed by his real name.  Shatterstar, he repeated firmly in his mind.  Shatterstar.

            "Shatterstar," Julio breathed, startling Jamie.  For a minute he almost thought that the seismic mover-and-shaker had read his mind.  But no, he wasn't even paying attention to anybody but the unconscious boy in the bed.  Shatterstar, Jamie thought again.  He had trained himself to call his new teammates by their real names, he could train himself out of this weird cynicism.  "Where have you been?"  Everybody was watching as Julio traced a soft hand down Shatterstar's cheek.  Pretty tender display, Jamie thought; he wouldn't have thunk it of Julio.  Or Shatterstar, for that matter.  Vague memories painted Shatterstar pretty manly and angry.  Learn something new every day, he supposed.  Gay **and** mutant.  Probably qualify for some kind of government assistance if that social program-killing cowboy wasn't in office back in the U.S of A.  Jamie chided himself mentally for his bitterness.  

            "What happened?" Sam asked.  His tone was honestly bewildered, but somehow Jamie didn't think it was solely because of Shatterstar's appearance.  "Ah mean …"

            "Where has he been, Ric?" Theresa asked.  Her tone was gentle.  She reached out and squeezed his hand, the one not stroking Shatterstar's face.  But Julio only shook his head.  He looked like he was in shock.

            I don't know. We … we broke up six months ago or so.  I don't know.  Last I heard from him, he was going to Genosha, to see if there was anybody who would help him get back home."  He swallowed noisily, ran a hand through his hair.  "I thought he died there."  His voice didn't shake or catch.  It sounded dead.  Theresa pulled him into a hug, stroking his hair.  Jamie was the first person to break the silence.

            "So if he was in Genosha, then what's he doing turning up in Mumbai two weeks later?  I thought he did something different, not like teleportation or anything.  What happened?"

            Silence was the only response until Sam gently cleared his throat.  "Guess we'll have to wait until he wakes up to ask him."

            Samuel Guthrie tromped down the hallway.  He was very disgruntled.  He was quite aware that he was tromping, slightly bent over and swinging his arms like he'd seen Wolverine do so many times.  He thought it made him look tough.            

            He interrupted Theresa mid-hit, throwing himself down on the floor at her feet.  She managed a greeting between coughs. Jamie, seated at the desk next to Theresa's bed, gave him a sardonic little salute.  Both had silly grins on their faces.  Sam scowled.  "Jesus, Terry, it's not even ten o'clock."  He waited.  No effect.  "Can Ah get a hit or not?"  She passed over the bong with a grimace, motioning to Jamie to hand her the water bottle that she kept on her desk.  They waited as she swigged from the bottle and got her breath back.  "Why didn't anyone tell me?"  He didn't sound tough, or even pissed off.  His tone was whiney, even to his own ears.  He winced.

            "Tell you what?  About Ric and Star?"  She cocked her head and threw a glance to Jamie, her expression unreadable.  "It didn't even happen until after you left for the X-Men.  They didn't even get together until after Ric came back to help with that trouble with Star a while back, and they didn't tell anybody.  I've only known for a few weeks, since we joined up with this outfit.  They were pretty quiet about it."  Jamie handed her the bong and exhaled his own hit into the mouth of the double standing next to him.  Theresa had long ago outlawed more than one of him smoking with her, but he got along shot-gunning just fine.  

            "Ah still think someone should've told me," Sam said quietly, picking at the carpet.  "Ah was part of the team too."  It shouldn't matter this much, he knew.  He didn't find out about Jimmy and Risque until after the girl died, and though he had been sympathetic, he hadn't been too interested in the history of the relationship.  This was different, his mind insisted.  This was not one but two teammates involved, one whom he had known since he was practically still a kid.  It was not only a little shock to discover, like he had been forced to with Bobby and Tabitha, that his friends did indeed mature behind his back, but it hurt to think that he wouldn't have **known** that Ric was gay.  Sam had always been kind of ambivalent about Shatterstar; his initial curiosity had been worn down by the fact that Star wasn't mysterious on purpose, he really was that fucking weird.  But Ric … he had known Ric for years, they had fought side by side for longer than just about anybody in their new team.  His thought track became more melodramatic the more stoned he got, but he still refused to admit, even to himself, that he hadn't exactly been honest either.

            Warpath had stayed in the infirmary with Rictor, keeping a silent vigil on their friend.  He hadn't known for sure about Ric and Star, but had had his suspicions.  He had gotten to be better friends with Shatterstar after Julio had left X-Force, though they had mostly talked about fighting.  It was weird, he thought; he realized he was seeing Julio through colored eyes, through Shatterstar's eyes.  He cleared his throat.  Ric glanced back at him.  "You okay?  A faint smile was on his lips.  James grinned.  

            "Yeah, I'm cool."

            "There anything you need to talk about, Jim?"  His voice was still a little shaky, but there was a trace humor there.  James went ahead and took the bait.  

            "What happened between you guys?"

            Julio affected a look of shock.  "What, not 'when did you go gay?'  I'm disappointed.  Hey, did you see the look on Sam's face?"  James laughed.  He had never been very close to Rictor, but had always, for some reason, liked him a lot.  He recognized in himself the same kind of wall that Julio threw up around his emotions.  He could appreciate the way the young man presented himself.

            "Nah, I think I knew about it, actually.  It was the way he talked about you after you left."  James shrugged.  It was more the way that Shatterstar talked than what he actually said.  With Star he had learned to filter everything anyway to decipher the depth behind what sounded, at first, like pretty blunt words.  He recalled how those silver eyes had softened almost imperceptibly, the slight change in body language that he probably wouldn't have picked up on without his heightened senses.  "But why'd you guys break up?"

            Julio laughed, a soft little harrumph.  His eyes darted to the floor and then back to Shatterstar's expressionless face.  He reached out with one finger and twitched the sheet back from his naked torso, tracing over a light starburst shaped scar right over where the heart would be, if Shatterstar was human.  "He got shot."  He glanced back at James, eyes dark.  "Right in the back.  See, the exit wound's huge.  He explained it to me later that his healing factor doesn't kick in immediately.  Lots of blood means more ratings back home, I guess.  But they fight with swords there instead of automatic weapons, so he almost bled out in the few minutes it took to start healing."  He shook his head, slowly.  He could still smell it, the dirty oil scent of the warehouse, the guns.  He could see it – Dios he could still see it, it clouded his vision as he watched in his mind's eye for the millionth time the way Shatterstar writhed on the ground, face distorted.  There was blood, yes, so much of it he could barely believe that one person could contain it all, but what had kept him awake for weeks afterwards was the way Star had moved, his torso heaving up again and again as if he was trying to rise, and couldn't.  Eventually the blood stopped and Star quieted, but he had slept for days afterwards, barely eating, and moved slowly for a month or so.  Julio supposed they had been lucky; most people would have been crippled, if not dead.  "I guess … seeing him like that again was too much, y'know?  So we tried living like regular people.  Moved to L.A. if you can believe it.  Thought we could get jobs working as stunt men.  And … we couldn't hack it.  It was too hard not fighting all the time, risking our lives.  So – we split up, and I came to X-Corp, he went to Genosha, and that's the last I knew."

            James nodded slowly, absorbing.  Something didn't sit right with him.  He considered himself a fairly caring person; he had been a shoulder to cry on for more than one person, but he wasn't sure if this thing that Ric was hiding wasn't something that he was also hiding from himself.  He thought of the way Shatterstar spoke of Ric's fear of things.  He had gotten the impression back then that something had happened between them before Ric left that the young Mexican hadn't been able to deal with.  It seemed to have smoothed out once he came back, of course, and privately James had been very happy for the two of them.  Somehow, though, he didn't think that this was an issue with commitment. 

            The door to the infirmary squeaked open, startling them both.  Feral poked her head through the doorway, squeezing her thin body behind it, looking very shy.  "Hey," she said.  

            "Hey yourself, kitty-cat," Rictor returned.  "Have a seat."  She pulled a chair over

near Proudstar.  "So, um, Mumbai.  How do you guys like it?"

            "It's cool," Feral said slowly.  "Kinda neat being a super-hero, finally, y'know?  We can wear our old costumes, too, and nobody laughs.  They think it's as cool as the leather shit everybody else is wearing now.  Prob'ly more cushy in Europe, right?"

            Rictor shrugged.  "We had that whole Hitler Youth thing going on that kind of fucked up our image, but it's cool here.  Get to travel, too … and it's a lot nicer here than any of the old X-Force bases."

            "Tell me about it," James said.  "I was so happy just to have my own shower."  The three laughed a little forcefully, and an uncomfortable silence fell.  

            "So, uh, you and Shattybuns, huh?" Feral asked.  Julio nodded.  She nodded back.  "That's cool.  He always liked you a lot better n' me, anyway."  She smiled a little tightly, showing teeth.  They all stared at the ground.  She straightened.  "So, boss-man, when we heading back?"  James shrugged.

            "Not like we have a lot to do back in Mumbai.  You wanna go back and finish all that paperwork?"  This is becoming more and more awkward by the minute, he thought.  He had almost forgotten the sheer amount of angst his ex-team had generated towards the end of their run.  He caught Julio yawning out of the corner of his eye, and turned towards his friend.  "We can watch him for you, if you want to catch some zz's.  It doesn't look like he's going anyplace, right?"

            Julio considered this, and smiled ruefully.  "I guess not.  Thanks, Jimmy.  Maria.  It's uh … nice seeing you guys again."  The door closed softly behind him, leaving a long moment in which the two mutants didn't quite look at each other.  

            "This is pretty fucked up," Feral said softly.  Jimmy nodded slowly, staring at his hands.  "I mean … Shatty … he smells diff'rent.  But they all smell diff'rent, so …" Jimmy only kept nodding, figuring that to be a pretty adequate response.

Hours pass.  As the working day ends it grows much quieter at the headquarters for X-Corporation Europe.  Mutants go home.  They file out of the tall building in droves, or head up to the floors where they live.  Julio Richter sleeps.  There are many things occurring.  Maria Callasantos wanders the hallways, feeling distinctly out of place.  Whenever she hears footsteps, she takes care to avoid encounters, whether she knows the person or not.  She doesn't feel bad, exactly, for the things she has done: tearing out Siryn's vocal chords, for instance.  The anti-psychotics that she takes has helped calm her, made her well, less psychotic, which she supposes is ironic.  She feels like a different person, but is still surprised that everybody else is different now, too.

Theresa Rourke stares into her mirror, blinking back Visine tears.  All that she can smell is pot.  It's all that she can taste.  She goes through over a quarter ounce a week and she is very, very aware of having traded one crutch for another.  She has been able to justify it in her mind, before.  She smokes with Jamie, instead of drinking alone.  No liver damage, no brain damage.  Nothing addictive whatsoever in these sticky greens, except for what's in your head.  She could explain it to herself over and over but would never feel any less guilty, or less like a failure.  Three years of sobriety down the shitter because it was so … easy … to find. 

Samuel Guthrie shudders as he lies on his bed, naked and erect.  His eyes are closed but in his mind he sees much.  He sees a smile that is only for him, a smile unlike Tabitha's, wicked and male.  In his mind this smile knows all his filthy thoughts, knows exactly the way he touches himself and who he thinks of when he comes.  His hand moves faster as he sees that smile, that wet mouth move between his legs.  "Oh, God," he whispers.  "Ric …" 

The boy in the infirmary lies quietly.  The bruises and cuts that cover his body have not faded.  Indeed, his heart slows as the hours pass.  The frantic effort to save himself has left him exhausted, barely able to draw on the resources that his genetically modified DNA normally supplies.  It is quite possible that he will still die but for the same manic power that saved him two weeks ago.  It snarls within his comatose brain.

Muscles spasm as the boy opens his eyes.  His torso heaves up again and again, his mouth open wide in silent screams.  Slowly the bruises fade from his body as his struggles cease, until he is left gasping on his narrow bed, his skin flawless and whole.  He squeezes his eyes closed, panting.  Even before he is fully conscious his mind is already calculating.  The sheet underneath him is itchy, the mattress is hard.  He smells antiseptic, and old friends.  His eyes snap open.  Proudstar watches over him, miraculously still asleep in his chair by the door.  The boy does not know that he has anything to do with this, but he does.  His silver eyes scan the room.  His dry mouth opens, questioning.  "Julio," he whispers.  He can smell his lover.  It is with the single-mindedness with which he designed that he begins to track.  The scent is intoxicating.  Who can guess when the last time this boy ate, how much time has passed for his body?  He is faint with hunger, his head spins with dehydration, but in this strange and unfamiliar place he can still try to find his Julio.  

He would know at once that the apartment belonged to Julio, even if everything in it wasn't drenched in his scent.  Neat and organized simply because of the lack of possessions, the only stand-out piece of furniture, besides what looked like a pair of government issue couches, is the sizeable collection of weights, complete with bench.  An _El Mariachi _poster is the only decoration to grace the walls.  The tiny kitchen is almost fussy, clean dishes stacked on counters instead of in the cupboards, cutesy oven mitts that were probably a gift from Julio's grandmother.  The boy smiles fondly, almost overwhelmed.  He moves to the bedroom.  It's empty, sheets and blankets kicked to the foot of the bed.  It's just as anonymous as the living room.  The shower is running.

He stands for a moment in the doorway of the small bathroom.  He can see his lover's form through the opaque shower door.  The shadow turns towards him – he can almost see Julio's face, almost make out his expression – and lifts a hand to press against the glass.  The boy returns the gesture for just a moment before bringing the hand down to slip out of the ragged cut-offs he's wearing, the only piece of clothing that survived his trip from Genosha.  Julio stares silently as the boy steps into the shower, biting his lower lip.  He reaches out and falters, his fingertips inches from the boy's bare torso.  The water sprays off his body, beading in the other boy's lowered eyelashes.  He can't smell anything but the hot water and the cheap French combination shampoo/conditioner he uses and hates.  And then: "Star?" when he thinks he can't stand it anymore.  

And is gathered up in Shatterstar's arms, and the kiss is exactly how he remembered it would be.  The feel of his lips, his hands; he had watched Star's face in the infirmary and had still not truly believed that it was really him, that he could get him back.  Now he looks up into silver eyes and smiles: yes, it **is** him.  It is Star.  As Shatterstar's mouth traces a line down his stomach, Julio leans back his head and lets the tears run down his face.  There just isn't any reason to hold them back anymore.  He had been so uncertain this morning, but just being near Shatterstar again has made all his worries seem like smoke.  It could be just the way it used to be.   


End file.
